Ode To a Woodpecker

The ladder backed pecker, like a prison uniform. Caught-up in exposing the truth beneath the bark, of the poet's apple tree. We prefer ourself in spring; with tiny little flowers, and the fruit of possibility. Yet, if not for the woodpecker, tapping holes into poems, we might not ever see the flesh and blood of raw meat. I will climb that ladder back, escape pre-decreed standards. Tap into that syrupy mixture and suck-out truth from hard wood. Yes, lessons from a jail bird. A pest in the Avian Kingdom. Wisdom from the little rebel, beat-out of a tree.